My Secret Pleasure With Him

I never thought I'd end up here, confessing something that feels so private and wrong. But it's eating me up inside, and I need to let it out. He's my patient, the man in his late 40s who came to me after a difficult divorce. We were supposed to just work together, but one day he crossed that line. He asked if we could pretend for an hour or two, him as the caregiver, me as someone needing guidance and care. At first I said no, but something about his pain, his vulnerability... It pulled at my heartstrings. So we tried it once. Just role-played. And now every session, there's this undercurrent of tension, of longing. He takes charge, guiding me through tasks, offering advice as if I'm a child in need of direction. But then it goes further. Physical discipline, not harsh, but enough to remind me who’s in control. And after, we touch each other intimately, exploring limits and boundaries that blur lines. It's wrong on so many levels, he's my patient, yet there's this mutual understanding, a connection deeper than just words or notes. I'm ashamed of these feelings, the way they consume me sometimes. But for now, it's our secret.